


Benefits

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23305897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Markus’ vice comes over for cash.
Relationships: Leo Manfred/Markus
Comments: 2
Kudos: 53





	Benefits

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Markus is in the living room when the front doors register entry—there’s a split second where the program runs through him, waiting for permission, and his response is so quick that Leo will think it’s automatic. He’ll assume the doors naturally slide open for him because Markus _trusts_ him. It’s the modern-day version of a pseudo-boyfriend having a key. Markus is more modern-day than Leo knows, but there’s a reason he pried his LED out, and that information’s not important for their ‘relationship.’ He looks up when Leo wanders in through the arched doorway, as though Leo’s footsteps were the first thing to alert him to another’s presence. 

He can recognize Leo’s ambling gait easily. He’d have no trouble picking Leo out of a crowd by that alone. He knows Leo’s unique smell—the familiar tang of old cologne and new sweat and the mango perfume from Markus’ own shampoo. Maybe Leo hasn’t had a shower since he crashed at Markus’ on Tuesday. He grins like a weasel and wanders closer, hips swaying. Markus analyzes the movement and determines it’s half natural unsteadiness and half clumsy seduction.

Leo stops beside the couch, close enough to touch. His rumpled jeans poke at Markus’ knees. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Leo slurs, “Hey.”

“Hello,” Markus returns. He sees the way Leo’s eyes sweep over him, maybe trying to figure out exactly what Markus was doing, but Markus doesn’t need a tablet or laptop to conduct business—he was managing it all in his head. North is on the other line, and he tells her he’ll have to call her back, already hanging up. She doesn’t have a chance to mentally roll her eyes at him. He knows what she thinks—what most of Jericho thinks—about Markus’ place amongst the humans, disguised and fully integrated. 

Most of the androids that _think_ they’re awake still don’t experience the full range of emotions that Markus does. They don’t understand the subtle joys of running even synthetic fingertips along flushed, sweat-slicked human skin. They don’t see the merit in bitter morning breath between sloppy kisses and watching someone else fall asleep of pure exhaustion. Humans aren’t perfect by a long stretch— _far_ from it—and Leo’s hardly a shining example of humanity. But he is _cute_ , and maybe Markus gets a guilty kick out of having a human come to _him_ in need. 

He knows what Leo likely came for. Leo looks at Markus like he wants him—and Leo _does_ ; that much is real. He’s perpetually turned on by his superior lover. But he must’ve come by for _more_ , and Markus isn’t at all surprised when Leo licks his lips and tentatively ventures, “I, uh... listen, I need some cash...”

“Mhm.” Markus could, but doesn’t, point out that he _just gave_ Leo money earlier in the week. It’s no surprise that he blew it all already. Humans have so many _needs_ —shelter, food, clothes, self-destructive entertainment—whereas Markus already owns the property and wants for nothing else. He occasionally buys parts for other androids and maintains Jericho. He has a plethora of skills but can make money via stocks in the literal blink of an eye. Mostly, he buys things for his boy toy.

He probably shouldn’t have one of those. But Leo sets one leg on the couch and lowers down towards it, suspending just above Markus. He follows with a semi-sweet, mostly pathetic, “ _Please_.”

Markus lifts a hand to clasp Leo’s chin. He can feel the burn of day-old stubble, but he doesn’t mind Leo’s unkempt looks—what he looks for is all in Leo’s eyes. The dark circles under them aren’t as bad as usual, and there’s no red to his sclera, no strain to his irises. Evidently picking up on the intent, Leo mutters, “I’m clean.”

He always says that. But he _does_ look clean, and he has been getting better—his red ice use has drastically reduced since Markus took a firm stance on it. He knows how to handle Leo, how to guide Leo, better than a human partner ever could. He shows his approval by wrapping an arm around Leo’s waist and tugging Leo down—Leo falls into Markus’ lap and pulls up tight against Markus’ body. His arms loop around Markus’ broad shoulders, and Markus hums, “As long as you’re taking care of yourself, we can work something out.”

Leo scowls. He always gets difficult when Markus brings up sobriety. “I stopped taking it.”

“I believe you.”

Leo wrinkles his nose. He doesn’t seem to believe it himself. He shakes his head and grumbles, “Y’know, it’s easy for you to judge, because you’re perfect, but it’s not so easy for the rest of us.”

Markus lifts one brow. There was a time when Leo wouldn’t have given him the time of day, even with the money. Markus had bought a particularly gorgeous painting at one of his father’s show, and Leo had glared at Markus just as much as everyone else. Leo would probably glare twice as hard if he knew about the circuitry under Markus’ skin. But he’s already come around, and there’s no malice in his voice. Markus still can’t help teasing, “I’m perfect, am I?”

“Shut up. You know you’re hot. You’re hot, rich, good at freaking everything, and everybody loves you. Even dad won’t shut up about you. And he doesn’t even like _me_ , his own son.”

A soothing subprogram engages. Markus lifts one hand and starts rubbing subtle, comforting patterns across Leo’s trim back. He knows the issue runs so much deeper than what Markus can touch on the outside, but Markus still tries. “You know that’s not true.”

“It is. I just need a small bit, and he wouldn’t give it to me. Like, a _tiny_ bit. My dad’s a freaking millionaire...”

“He just wants you to be independent.”

Which Markus isn’t helping at all. Leo must be thinking the same thing. His lips twist up into a smirk, and he leans closer, letting his forehead press against Markus’. He all but purrs across Markus’ lips, “Good thing my sugar daddy doesn’t.”

Before Markus can respond, Leo’s mouth is on his, tilting and surging forward, a warm tongue snaking between his lips. Markus opens up for it and kisses Leo back, fiercer than he means to, because Leo always fans _emotions_ in him that he shouldn’t even have. He was never given sexual protocols, but feeling Leo’s weight on his thighs and Leo’s hands on his chest makes him improvise. He _knows_ he shouldn’t enable it. He never set out to be anyone’s _sugar daddy._ But Markus is only a prototype: he’s _not_ perfect, and Leo’s his one weakness. 

He pulls back just enough to ask, “How much do you need?” Leo keeps scattering him in kisses, nipping at his jaw and chin. 

“A hundred,” Leo mutters. “Got a new job, wanna get a bike to get there...”

Leo’s voice is hoarse and stuttering, but because he’s busy mouthing at Markus’ face, not because he’s lying. Markus judges it to be the truth. He rewards Leo with another mouthful of tongue and swallows Leo up in a long, greedy kiss. 

Then he promises, “I’ll write a check. ...But stay for dinner, so I can at least make sure you get a nutritious meal.”

“So long as you’re doing the cooking.”

Markus grins. He’s a far better cook than Leo. And he doesn’t mind running through dull human chores, so long as he has a pretty human to look at while he works. 

A pat to Leo’s hip, and Leo’s obediently climbing off him. They pass one of Carl Manfred’s paintings on the way—a gorgeous rendition of Leo: a rare image of him _smiling_ , which Markus absolutely had to have. It was worth every penny.

Leo Manfred’s worth more.


End file.
